I Keep Losing Everything About You
by wowsugarpuss
Summary: From one parent-maiming to another. Veronica and Logan muddle through. AU from 110. Completely cracked. Alternating POVs.


"Is he alright?"

Logan just shrugs. Shame for him, he can't pull off nonchalance. I'm the only one left and that's only because my dad's down at the station filling out forms and giving eyewitness reports with everyone else. I guess I could drive home but it feels kind of wrong to leave Logan alone with this many open containers of alcohol.

I don't want to wake up to something creative written on my car. I really can't afford the paintjob.

He sighs. He does that a lot lately. Not that I notice things about Logan, just that it's obvious to anyone in the vicinity. Logan Echolls—he's not subtle.

"He'll live."

"And you sound so thrilled." I lean back against one of the catering tables, trying to get comfortable as I watch him pace. Boy's hyper-kinetic, you could probably fuel a light bulb off him.

Finally he stops and stares down at me, looking like it hurts him to lower his standards enough to talk to me. Gosh, Logan, thanks for treating me like something you found on your shoe—I mean that's swell. So much for holiday spirit. I'm about to leave, really I am—my heel poised for spinning even—when he finally stops staring at me and says, "Part of the job… crazy fans."

"She said they had an affair."

"Yeah, and you should always believe what people tell you. Thought of all people you'd know better."

"I don't know Logan, you don't seem to take your own advice. 'Cept when it suits you."

"Yeah. Well, spoiled rich kid. We like that sort of self-involvement. Now are you going to leave or do I need to get someone to kick you out?"

"There's no one else here, everyone went home or to the station."

"Guess I'll escort you myself then."

"Logan—"

"Would you just _leave_ already?"

"Gladly. But you shouldn't be alone, where's Duncan?"

"I'm a big boy, Veronica. Luckily the dark doesn't scare me anymore."

"What about people getting stabbed in your front room?"

"Isolated attack," he argues, clearly not happy with me if his scowl is anything to go by. I figure it's genuine enough.

Scare tactics are always fun, but I should probably be a bit more sympathetic considering he's only sixteen and his dad just got gutted by the 'help'. 'Should' would be the operative word. "You'd like to think."

"Would you just shut up and go?" he sighs heavily, making a shooing motion with his hands.

"What about Duncan?"

His scowl is still in place as he explains, "Celeste phoned about two hours ago, demanded 'family time'."

My brow crinkles in confusion, "But her and Jake were here."

"I guess they left. Does it matter? Think they had some hand in the stabbing? You know Jake Kane's got connections… what if he comes after you next, Veronica?"

And suddenly I'm seeing my face ringed in red target marks and Logan's comments aren't nearly as funny as he wishes they were. The delivery's off too, he's too tight, too tired, too sad. Hey, if I'm going to be stuck here by my ever shifting morals then I might as well have some fun analyzing him.

"You didn't used to be this annoying," he continues. "You used to be—"

"—quiet?"

"Yeah."

"You don't appreciate my opinions?" I ask sweetly.

He doesn't even falter as he replies, smug grin in place, "Believe me, babe, if I want you to open your mouth you'll hear me unzipping."

I can't believe that I'm more offended he called me 'babe'.

* * *

She looks pissed. All righteous indignation and ice queen veneer. I just shrug and head to the bar, picking up an empty glass and checking that it's clean before grabbing the nearest bottle and pouring.

"You don't think you should call your mom?"

"She's doing press," I reply dully. She looks a little surprised; she forgets that some of us have to explain everything to assholes with cameras.

"Oh."

I shoot her a cold smile, "Yeah. Shouldn't you call your dad?"

"He's probably still at the Sheriff's, he'll come get me when he's done."

"Your car's here," I point out. I'd really just like to get rid of her at this point. I've survived the past year without Veronica Mars poking her nose in, I'll survive tonight.

She shrugs, all cute-like and ditzy, "Someone'll drive me tomorrow. I'll pick it up then."

"You just think of everything, don't you?"

"You've got to have a plan," she answers decisively, as if tonight wasn't a golden example of how often things go off the fucking map.

"Let me know how that works out for you," I mutter finally. It's so lame, I can't even think of a good come-back. Maybe because we're not really arguing—I just don't know how to talk to her anymore. We used to talk all the time, mostly with Duncan and Lilly there but still… you'd think I'd be able to at least hold up a conversation. I'm hardly a mute.

Maybe it's just her. Veronica fucking Mars and her good intentions and her glossy hair and thrift store trash excuse for a wardrobe. Is it sad that all my friends jumped ship and she's the one stuck babysitting me?

She wanders over to the window, looking out at the cheap, tacky excuse for snow that's lying all over the porch. She's probably never even seen the real stuff.

* * *

"It almost looks like real snow," I decide contemplatively. I haven't actually _seen_ real snow, but from the TV this is what I guess it'd look like. Logan with his ski trips and his European vacations is probably an expert.

Logan is completely blasé. He just cocks an eyebrow to the window and then looks back at his drink, raising it slightly as he declares, "I'd rather get wet in here."

"What a surprise," I deadpan. He doesn't appreciate the comedic effort, just picks up his drink and kind of shakes it toward me.

"If you're going to stick around, at least have a drink." He uses the glass as his pointer to gesture to the abandoned bar. It's still fully stocked even without the wait staff. This is exactly the reason why I'm not leaving him here alone, not unless I can fit the two bars and probably several bottles under the sink into my purse.

I remind him, "I don't drink." It's not strictly true but every bone in my body tells me that it's not a good idea to become drinking buddies with Logan alone in his alcohol-laden house only a few hours after his dad was stabbed.

The press will be here soon and I don't want to stumble for the cameras on my way out. The thought of facing story-hungry guys snapping for E! kind of makes me want to take him up on that drink though.

He just shrugs at my rejection, sinking back onto the table opposite mine. It just happens to be the table housing the bar. "_God_, you got boring," he lets me know. Ever the charmer.

I don't give him the satisfaction of being offended, "Didn't think I was ever that interesting."

"Maybe not," he shrugs, staring intently into his drink. I'm thinking that maybe someone's a little uncomfortable. If his dad hadn't just been stabbed I would be picking at _that_ scab right about now.

Oh, who am I kidding? This is the most fun I've had in months. Logan Echolls, drunk, vulnerable and alone? If I had a video camera I would tape it for prosperity. "That's an awfully vague answer. And usually you're so definite in your hatred."

He seems to think that, "I'm drunk," is an adequate answer.

"Well maybe you should stop drinking," I suggest.

He makes sure his glass is out of my reach, because I'm really going to be able to _take_ it from him if he doesn't want me to. He's like a foot taller than me, the moron. "Yeah, well, maybe you should stop meddling."

* * *

She just doesn't know when to shut her mouth—push, push, fucking push. It's not like she gets to me. It just pisses me off. Veronica, she always has to have the last word, the definitive say, she can't ever just let things go. And this is _not_ a pot-kettle-black moment.

Always trying to unravel things and maybe people don't want shit unraveled. Maybe someone just spent a fucking long time raveling stuff up for her to come along and fuck it all up with her well-placed looks and pointed questions. Damn it pisses me off—she's too good at that.

Veronica Mars—she's the kind of girl people call a firecracker. It's an understatement, she's an unpinned grenade. There's no point using euphemisms with girls like her. She wouldn't pull a punch if you paid her.

It's fucking torture sitting there while she watches me drink. When her dad pulls up in his shitty car and drags her home I could almost do a little dance of joy. Instead I vomit in the nearest bathroom and pass out on the couch.

* * *

He greets me with a shit-eating grin that makes me want to smack him, "Ah, Veronica Mars—the Eternal Virgin."

My teeth grit slightly. He doesn't know what happened to me so I let it slide, I don't know why I feel the need to make excuses for _Logan_ of all people.

I just nod at him and smile, irritatingly bright. "Logan Echolls—the would be Village Bike. Fixed that unfortunate deflating problem?"

"Why, you need a ride?" He smirks, and he thinks he's so clever, like that line didn't go the way of 80s fashion and Pamela A's boobs.

I just roll my eyes. His face lights up and if I'm blushing then there's a hose in my car that I can just attach to the exhaust…

When the silence extends into what you would call aaaawkward, I finally snap, "What do you want, Logan?"

"Besides watching you get all hot and bothered?"

"I'm not bothered."

"But you are hot. You're blushing." His sing-song tone is _infuriating_. If he's not careful there'll be another bong in his locker next week, and it sure as hell won't be shaped like a fat man.

"It's just warm in here," I argue.

Logan looks disbelieving, the bastard. "It's like fifty degrees, _Veronica_," he says pointedly.

I think I really hate him sometimes. Most of the time.

"Cat got your tongue?" he asks. "Panties in a twist?"

Boy, he's obnoxious. I try not to fume as I force a smile, replying, "It's nice to see you being so original, how long to do I have to wait for you to rag on me being poor?"

Logan Echolls—he'll call you a whore to your face, with a smile, and then tell you your mother's a drunk. Subtle's not exactly his best friend.

"Hmmm," he ponders. "I figured I'd stick with the slut genre actually."

His mouth quirks in this way when he thinks he's being funny. It's sort of endearing if you ignore everything else about him.

"Is there a reason you're talking to me?" I ask.

He actually manages to look hurt, the ass. All wounded eyes and his head ducked. The only thing giving him away is that smile—although you never know with Logan, he smiles all the time. You could probably punch him in the face and he'd smile as he smacked you back.

* * *

Detention was interesting. You'd think I'd get a free pass what with all the shit in my life lately, apparently the administration aren't into bullshit sympathy techniques like the rest of the world. Sucks to be me.

Across the parking lot I see Veronica. She's standing over some guy, her foot planted squarely on his chest and the first thought into my head is:_ Holy shit! She just took down a two-hundred pound guy with her dyke boots!_

A hop, skip and a jump later and I'm sprinting over there to take a look. As I get closer I notice that she's got a tazer pressed up close to the guy's throat and the world feels a little bit safer knowing that I'm not going to find myself on the receiving end of some fatal kung-fu from ninety-pound Miss Mars.

She's in 'all business' mode, doesn't even notice when I come up behind her. The guy's shaking and shivering and I figure she's already given him a taste of the baby in her hand. He's sweating like crazy and she's so mad a flush is drawn right up her neck—she _loves_ this, you can just tell.

"Why don't you give the lady some answers?" I flex my fingers in and out of a fist; it's about as close to subtle as I get.

Veronica jumps, startled. I didn't know I was that stealth and I definitely didn't mean to throw her so that the jackass under her shoe could push her off. She goes flying into the ground and he takes off before I can put my fist through his neck. Or my foot up his ass. Or even get a proper look at him.

"Logan!" she's infuriated. Shit.

I lean down to help her up. She's chewing gum but it's not mint, smells like juicy fruit. Almost like peach. I automatically wonder what she would taste like. I bet it would be like her gum all plastic and fake fruit and cherry.

But she's _pissed_ and instead of taking my hand she shoves hers into my chest, hard, throwing me off-balance until I end up on my ass in the dirt too.

"What the hell, Veronica? I was trying to help!"

"Yeah, well, _great_ job, Logan. He got away and now I have to throw this out." She gestures to her shirt, it's true, there's a huge hole in the elbow… it's pretty fucked.

Now I just feel bad. It's new and different and I don't like it. I shouldn't be feeling sorry for Veronica Mars and her pitiful bank account and shitty wardrobe. I should be cheering, leading the parade.

Instead I ask, "You okay?"

* * *

"Why am I even here?" he whines and I sigh, letting my hands grip the steering wheel tighter for a moment. My knuckles turn white and I take a deep breath but when I turn to face him Logan's still being an irritating brat.

I sigh, stretching out in the LeBaron. Logan tries to do likewise and fails spectacularly due to having more than several inches on me. His legs are almost squashed up against the dash and if I'm uncomfortable he must be ready to gnaw a foot off for some room.

Still doesn't make up for the fact that I have to listen to his bitching. If he hadn't scared off my guy then this would all be over by now.

"You scared off my guy," I repeat, out loud this time for his benefit.

He has to argue though, "If you had been paying attention to your surroundings you wouldn't have jumped. What do they teach you in spy school these days?"

"Well I can castrate a guy in seven different ways with no weapons, but maybe that's just the Keith Mars spy school."

He shifts unconsciously, poor boy. But he's right, if anyone should be scared of me sacrificing their manhood it would be Logan Echolls. He really doesn't do himself any favors.

He smirks, "You're just a little freak, aren't you?"

"A freak that could have you singing soprano again in under sixty seconds," I threaten.

He looks at me, trying to decide between amused and irritated. Amused seems to win out. "I never sang. And I'm pretty sure hacking them off doesn't do jack to your voice."

"Maybe removing your voice box would," I mumble and it's a crappy comeback but it's really more for my own benefit than his. Anything to get some quiet right now so that I can concentrate on actually getting the job done and _not_ having to spend another night out here.

* * *

I've been waiting for her for at least ten minutes when Veronica finally pushes through the door of the empty classroom. I have no idea what she wants, the 'stake-out' was a bust, and I've officially doodled over the entire sole of these sneakers. Time to buy a new pair.

I stick my gum under the table and she grimaces. Cute, like she hasn't committed crimes worse than littering. Veronica Mars—Neptune's very own Eco-Action Warrior? Yeah, right. Once she's done having her delicate sensibilities offended by my blatant disregard for chipboard tables she comes the rest of the way into the room and I jump up to meet her. Yeah, I do feel like kind of a bitch about it.

There's a white envelope in her hand, she stretches it out to me. It's light, almost like it's empty.

I widen my eyes, lifting my voice, "A present? For me?"

"It's Christmas all over again," she answers dryly. "Andrews wanted me to pass this along."

"Aw, and like the service-girl you're destined to be you said 'yes'?"

I rip the top flap of the envelope off and pull it open, something falls out and Veronica ducks down to get it. I can't help it, I know no good can come of it _ever_ but in this position it's like a biological imperative—as if I owe it to all males everywhere to use this line as often as possible.

"Veronica…"

She looks up, still crouched on the ground. "Yeah?"

"While you're down there…" I lift an eyebrow and she looks confused for a few moments before she realizes where her eye line is.

She scowls. It's a joke but the way her hair is falling across one eye, she doesn't look half bad. Must be 'cause half her face is covered.

When she straightens up there's a check in her hand. It's made out to me, fun.

I give her my 'skeptical' look. "So, Andrews… This is the guy you smacked down two days ago, right?"

She nods.

"Tony Andrews wants to give me…" I take a look at the scribbled handwriting on the slip of paper, "eight thousand. Fuck, Veronica, what is this?"

She tells me simply, "He was owe you, now you're square."

"Hexagonal. It was never this much."

"Call it interest."

"What did you do? How did you even know he owed me money?"

She keeps poker-faced blank, lips zipped together. "Trade secret. And don't flatter yourself; I needed him for part of another case."

I shake my head and mutter, "You and your machinations…"

"Aw, have you been playing with the dictionary just to impress me?" She smiles with scrunchy eyes and a flash of teeth.

"Some weird kink, Mars."

"One question though. What the hell are you doing lending money to guys like Tony Andrews? He's one step away from being an outright gangster, Logan. People like that will kill you."

I shrug; I don't really have an excuse. Drunk, rich and bored, I do a lot of stupid things that I shouldn't. As long as daddy dearest doesn't find out then it's usually cool. "I didn't."

"Didn't what?" she seems pissed, it's fun being oblique with Veronica.

"Didn't loan it. I made a bet."

"You were gambling?" And she looks at me like I just told her I was out raping babies or murdering puppies. Over-emoting is Veronica's MO it seems. Strange that I've never noticed it before now.

"Yes, Veronica, I was gambling. Cuff me now!"

She regains a little of her composure, huffing, "You wish."

"Every night," I tell her seriously and the look on her face is so worth it. "Why'd you do it?" She's taken off guard until I wave the check in her face. "Why bother Veronica?"

"You haven't had the best year," she answers hesitantly. She won't look me in the face and if I didn't know any better I'd say Veronica Mars is embarrassed.

"Keep it," I decide finally.

She looks horrified, "I'm not taking your money, Logan."

"You're the one who got it back," I argue.

"It's not mine."

"Finders keepers," I shrug.

"Are you kidding me? That's eight thousand dollars, Logan. Even you can't sniff at that."

"Honestly, I'd forgotten about it." She doesn't look convinced and I can't help but pull out my wallet, flicking a black AmEx from the side pocket.

Her eyes widen slightly. Even living in Neptune she's probably never seen AmEx in black so close up. I'll admit there are perks to being a Hollywood brat.

"Dad gave it to me last month, so it really doesn't matter, okay?"

She nods slightly and goes for her bag. On her way out the door I call her back, "Hey, Veronica, wait!" She stops, turning slightly. "Thanks," I nod sheepishly.

She nods back and when she disappears through the door I notice that the check's sitting on a desk by the exit.

* * *

"Hey, Veronica."

I look over and see Logan jumping out of his Big Bird styled excuse for a car. He waves, a little more enthusiastically than I imagine he'd ever want to know about and I find myself stopping—this is probably a mistake.

"Logan," I greet.

He's standing there, kind of looking at the ground—his head ducked, toeing the dirt around like a little boy.

"Did you want something?" I ask and I try not to be harsh, I really do but it's difficult to be patient with him no matter how… adequately he's been treating me recently.

"Uh, yeah. Just… that guy, how did you even know?"

"I told you already, Logan. He was involved in another case, your name came up somehow and I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone."

"So you talk about me, huh?"

My face feels hot when I defend, "It wasn't like that."

"Okay," he nods and that damn smirk is back and I just… He's… I swallow hard trying to gather my thoughts but he's standing really close now and it's kind of unnerving. I'm five foot nothing and Logan could probably loom over me on his knees—not that I ever expect to have Logan Echolls on his knees. Nice mental image though, he deserves to fall a peg or two.

I point out, "It's not like we like each other or anything."

"No, definitely not," he agrees with a lopsided smile that makes me think he might be lying.

"So, then…" and I pause to try and take a breath because suddenly it's really stuffy and my voice isn't as commanding as I'd like it, "could you maybe stop drooling on my neck?"

But instead of moving back, he kisses me. Logan Echolls is kissing me and I don't know what's scarier: that he's kissing me or that I'm kissing him back. Hanging out with him really has decreased my IQ 'cause there's no way this is a smart idea.

Feels kinda good though.

His hand slides into my hair and I open my mouth without really thinking. All of a sudden I feel dizzy, a little breathless—and I take back every time I've ever told Logan to keep his mouth shut. Just as long as he's doing _this_ and not talking.

* * *

I don't know what the hell I'm thinking, kissing her. It's probably the most stupid thing I've done in the past year and that includes drugging my best friend and fucking Caitlin Ford so…

My fingers trail down her side and she's almost purring when she pulls back. Big, bad Veronica Mars purrs, there's one for the dear diary. It's that kind of moment, right up until she pulls out of my space and suddenly it's right there, a giant elephant that we're both trying to ignore. She swallows, I kick the ground. She readjusts the strap of her purse, I duck my head to kiss her again.

Almost giggling, Veronica pulls back, "What the hell are you doing?"

"Kissing you?"

"_Why_?"

I just shrug, I don't really know why. It's not like I'm in hearts and flowers love with Veronica Mars. It's just that when she's not wearing dykey shoes she's kinda hot and she smells good and well… she stuck around.

They're shit reasons, I know. So I just duck to kiss her again, and this time when she giggles nervously into my mouth I'm laughing with her. It's kind of hilarious, the idea of kissing Veronica—but damn if she doesn't feel good too.

* * *

Why do you always snort Coke out of your nose at the most inappropriate time possible? Maybe because there's not exactly an appropriate time to be snorting soft drinks.

He turns to face me, laughing, "Oh, yeah, baby. You're totally turning me on."

"You're a pig," I choke out, trying desperately to stop coughing.

Logan's hand rubs down my spine as he pats my back, trying to dislodge some imaginary object since I'm just choking on Coke. It's sweet though, that he bothers. "And you're secretly dating me."

"Is that what this is? Are we dating?"

"I guess." He shrugs. "I don't know, you got a definition handy?"

"I'm pretty sure it involves actual dates. You never take me anywhere," I tease.

"That's not true; we had a _very_ interesting field trip to the janitor's closet just yesterday. Or have you forgotten already?"

Oh, yeah, because it's really that easy to forget just how fast Logan can unbutton a shirt while undoing a bra-clasp with the other hand. Credit where credit's due, the boy has before unknown talents. Who thought the bathroom walls held anything credible? I smile because it's fun to wind him up and see how he'll snap back, "Well, you are pretty forgettable."

* * *

I forgot how much _fun_ Veronica is. Sure, she was never this fun when I used to know her, but then I'd never saw her half-naked when we were friends. All that effort that she can put into pissing you off she can most definitely put to good use.

She's just… cute.

I duck down and catch her mouth with mine, she's so tiny. I know better than to point this out though. "Hey."

"Hi," she greets, shyly and I steal another kiss in between words.

I pull away, sneaking a glance at an imaginary watch. "You're late."

"By ten minutes," she argues.

"That's ten valuable minutes that we could have been doing this," I complain, pulling her against me as I flop back onto the couch so that she lands in my lap.

Veronica pushes her hair behind her ear, dipping down to kiss me. "Aw, miss me?" she mocks.

"You wish," I mumble back against her mouth. Yeah, I'm real smooth. But cut me some slack, that mouth of hers… it's distracting as hell.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know we had company."

Shit. SHIT.

"Logan?"

I really don't want to look up. Really, really, really. Veronica practically jumped off me at the first sound of a voice and she's now sitting next to me staring at her hands, hard.

"Mom?"

"Your father will be home soon; maybe you want to go out to the pool house."

"Right," I nod. I'm bright red, I know this. But I just got caught making out by my mother. My mom, maybe the only member of my family I can actually stand.

I stand, holding out a hand for Veronica which she takes amazingly, keeping her face turned toward me to avoid any excess eye contact with my mom.

"It was nice seeing you again, Veronica," she adds right before we leave. Because she couldn't have been cool and just left it the fuck alone.

Veronica tenses; it's cute how embarrassed she is. "You too, Mrs. Echolls."

"I'll be in the gym with Paul, if you need anything help yourself."

"Right, mom, thanks." I really want to get out of here now.

"Oh, Logan, is Veronica staying for dinner?"

I shrug and look down at her. She reluctantly brushes the hair off her face and shakes her head. "I think my dad wants me home for dinner tonight, but thank you," she answers all gracious. Cute _and_ she has manners. Gosh, this one might be a keeper.

I nod at my mom on the way out and she has that _look_. I'm never going to hear the end of this. If I thought I was gushing about Veronica then I'm about to be seriously outdone at dinner tonight.

* * *

"You bought me chocolates?" I ask incredulously when he presses the wrapped box into my hand.

He looks a little scared by my perceptiveness. "You don't know they're chocolates."

I shoot him an eyebrow and excitedly tear into the wrapping, revealing that my female hormones are still good for honing in on the good stuff. "You bought me chocolates," I repeat, trying to keep the warm smile off my face. But chocolate, and _good_ chocolate at that.

"Yeah, you like chocolate," he shuffles kind of awkwardly and I realize that I still haven't let him into the apartment yet.

"But you bought me chocolates," I grin like a broken record and he's starting to blush and it's hilariously endearing. I kinda want to pinch his cheek or something.

I settle for kissing him.

When he pulls away, flushed a little more now I note smugly, Logan adds defensively, "They were on sale."

"No they weren't," I tease.

"You don't know that," he attempts. His face cracks into the most unintentional grin and he ducks his head to try and hide it.

I wrap my arms around his waist and murmur, "We should eat them."

"You're going to let me near your _chocolate_?" He looks scandalized, as if I'd just offered him my secret coke stash. I guess in relative terms I have.

I nod, pulling away to sink into the couch and retrieve the gift. He follows and I'm reminded a little of a puppy… I bet he would roll onto his back and beg if I rubbed his stomach…

"You can have the ones with nuts," I offer generously.

His eyebrow quirks and his eyes crinkle, "Think I'm lacking somehow?"

I shoot him a wicked glance, turning my attention back to the chocolates, "I don't know, you've yet to prove yourself."

When I look up Logan's standing, undoing his belt. My eyes widen and I'm trying to glare at him, I really, really am. But…

He laughs, "Take off your pants."

"You take off _your_ pants," I counter.

His hands fly wide, whipping the belt from the loops and he makes a 'tada' expression. Sadly for the sake of comedy his pants don't fall down, but the part of me that doesn't ever remember having sex thanks every deity ever that may or may not exist. Full frontal Logan is not something I signed up for so soon.

I'm laughing outright by the time he starts undoing the top button of his jeans. "No, Logan, stop!" I cry out and he's grinning like a maniac as his hand hovers the fly for a moment more before he relents and flops down on the couch next to me.

"Your loss, babe."

I grin and steal a quick kiss. "I'm sure."

* * *

Veronica Mars—she has this way of surprising you. Like when your hand slides under her shirt and she lets it, or when she basically demands that you undress her.

"Are you actually going to do anything down there, or are you just window shopping?" She's a little breathless and that makes me smirk.

My fingers are tracing the little button in the front of her jeans and it takes me about zero point two seconds after her question to pop it open and get started on the zipper.

Some of the ideas she has… she's a really smart girl.

She giggles when I kiss her hip and I'm sorry I spent so much time hating her. I can be really stupid sometimes, but she already knows that. Hell, CNN probably know that.

I don't know what I expect to find when I start sliding the denim off her squirming hips. A chastity belt maybe, signed and sealed by her father. Possibly a 'Keep Off the Grass' sign attached to her panties.

Whatever it is, it definitely isn't red. Or lace. So that would be what they call a good surprise.

My mouth must be hanging open cause she reaches down and taps my chin, clicking my teeth together. And I might just love her a little.

"I don't want your drool all over me," she frowns and I bite my lip to keep from making a smart comment.

I'd rather prolong the pantlessness.

There's a tiny birthmark peeking out of the elastic of her panties, I can't resist dragging them down an inch to lick across it. She arches up toward me, sounding kind of desperate. She's really hot when she wants something, anything, but especially this.

How could Veronica Mars begging for sex in a breathy pant be anything but fucking supe-dee-duper hot? She tastes like cherry but down here it's all salt and damp skin. I graze my fingers along the edge of her panties and she lets out a whining sound—man, she must hate herself for that.

* * *

I shouldn't be surprised when I get the call, but something about the way Logan sounds pulls my heartstrings in all the wrong directions and I _am_ surprised.

"She's dead."

I want to say I'm sorry, but I don't, he wouldn't appreciate it. Instead I say, "I know," and I'm not sure why because I didn't know, nobody did really.

He sighs and I think he's crying. Apparently I don't have much willpower when it comes to Logan Echolls because I'm grabbing my keys before he can say anything else.

"I'll be there in five minutes," I tell him.

Of course he argues, "It takes ten to drive here from yours."

My sort of quasi secret boyfriend's mother just died and I'm rolling my eyes across the phone line at him, while he's being pedantic. It doesn't seem like me and I think_, he must be rubbing off_. I try not to sigh as I tell him, "I'll drive fast."

The keys in my hand jangle and I quickly try to quiet them. Why yes, dad, I am sneaking out in the middle of the night to go see my unsupervised boyfriend.

Logan's in the middle of telling me that it doesn't matter when I hang up on him. It might be heartless but I can't drive if I'm talking to him and I'd really rather have him in person right now.

He calls again while I'm on the road but I let it go to voicemail, he's not going to do anything stupid in the five minutes between now and me arriving on his doorstep… I hope. If I'm right then he'd take at least ten minutes to decide on the stupid thing anyway, yeah… This is me officially hoping my boyfriend's slow.

* * *

She's still in pajamas when she gets to my door and her hair looks like shit. I tell her and I don't know why I'm being such an ass after she drove across town at nearly midnight for me. I'm just not great at saying 'thank you'.

"Birds nesting, or is this heroin chic reinvented?" is so much easier.

She doesn't look impressed but she takes it. Veronica, she's got that superhero complex that makes her put up with shit she doesn't have to. It's fucking annoying but right now I'm kinda grateful.

I rub my hand across my face, forgetting about the pink shirt in my hand. It's my mom's, was my mom's, and she knows that—she doesn't try and take it from me though.

My dad is still out filling in forms for the Sheriff. The distraction must be fun.

* * *

He's standing there in pajama pants and a t-shirt, barefoot and ruffled from lack of sleep. He looks about five years old with a shirt—that's way too effeminate for even Logan—clutched between his hands, telling me I look like shit, while he fights off watery eyes.

His heart isn't in it and under different circumstances I would be offended by that more than the insult.

Instead I just really, really want to kiss him and I wonder, _when did I become such a sucker for this guy?_

He's never exactly going to be the Ken to my Barbie so I should probably just decommission the dream house now or leave quickly and let him find a cheap Sindy replacement.

* * *

"C'mon." She grabs my hand and pulls me through to the kitchen, heading straight for the fridge.

My half empty glass is sitting on the counter and she pours it down the sink without even checking what's inside. Smart girl.

"You don't want to know what my poison is?" I ask as she measures out an amount of orange juice into a new glass for me. It's plastic and I'm kinda offended.

"You've had enough," she says firmly, closing the fridge. "But just for kicks, vodka?"

"J.D." I admit quietly and she nods when I lift the bottle off the floor and hand it to her without being asked.

Veronica takes it. Pours the rest out. Figured she'd be into waste-not-want-not with her bank balance but apparently she doesn't mind disposing of _our_ beverages of choice. She's the kind of girl who'd break your cigarettes in half and flush them down the toilet if you bought a new pack.

Veronica Mars—vice-less wonder, everyone.

She doesn't bite her nails and never fails a class. She brushes, flosses and hugs her dad goodnight every single day. She always smells good and her hair is really soft. Suddenly I'm wondering why the hell she's here.

I must have stopped speaking 'cause she's staring at me like I'm a neutered puppy or a lost glove. I hate it. I really don't want her pity, she should know that.

She brushes back her bangs sleepily and God I don't want to be this into her. It's fucking _difficult_ to stop from blurting out poetic shit about how she looks, how she feels, how she makes me feel.

And it's just… I'm blaming it on trauma.

"I'm fine," I say in response to the concerned stare.

She just has to be right, "I told you I should have just stayed."

"Don't think your dad would've had some issues with that?"

"Special circumstances," she tilts her head a little as if she's too lazy to shrug properly, "he'd have understood."

"There's nothing 'special' about them," I mumble into the ground.

She presses the glass of OJ into my hand and insists softly, "Drink this. You'll feel better."

I'm being sullen and whiny but I feel like it's justified considering. "I really doubt that."

"It'll make me feel better," she counters, and for some reason that makes it seem like a good idea.

"What's wrong?" I ask quietly, as if it could be something unrelated.

"You're hurting," she doesn't even use a 'duh' tone of voice and I have to be impressed by her restraint. "I hate it."

"That I'm hurt?"

"Yeah."

I don't know what she expects me to say—thank you, I'm sorry, I love yo…—but it doesn't seem to be, "That's stupid."

Her face snaps up to mine just as I finish the juice and she has righteous indignation written all across her pretty, little features. It's hot.

"Where's your dad?" she asks like I actually care, as if his presence might make me feel _better_. Nice misfire, Veronica.

"He's in his den… 'grieving'." I make air quotes in her face and I can't even feel embarrassed that I'm doing it.

* * *

He looks… not great. And he's still dragging around his mom's shirt like a binky and in his pajamas, towering over me, he looks kind of ridiculous. I would laugh but at some point I stupidly let him break me in so that now I actually _care_ about him. It's… inconvenient, feeling like this.

It's scary when you see what happens to people you may or may not have strong feelings for, which if not exactly aligned with love are definitely in there with like. Deep like.

"You need to sleep," I tell him, trying to take his hand like the small child he's acting like.

Logan jerks his hand away from my touch. He couldn't make it any easier. He looks like one of those horses that go crazy and have to be shot… sadly I left my tazer in the glove box and if possible I'd really like not to have to shock my boyfriend into sedation.

I sigh. He stares blankly. I sigh. He swallows awkwardly. I sigh once again and this isn't getting us anywhere.

I edge towards him with the promise, "Come on, I'll let you cop a feel before we go to sleep."

"You're staying?" he asks, and he looks so hopeful that I'm guessing he doesn't just mean for under the covers snuggling right now.

It's tough decision time, but even if I wasn't planning on staying long-term I don't know anyone who could have said no to those puppy-eyes. He's so sad. I nod, "Yeah."

He swallows and I reach out to stroke my fingers across his face, "You hog the covers and I'm gone though."

He smiles a little hidden smile and his eyes look kind of watery but I'm not going to call him on it right now. What's the point? He's wrapping himself around me before I can say anything else and he mumbles, "Deal," by my ear before pressing his face into the crook of my neck.

He's crying.

I pull away slightly, leaving my arm around his waist—stroking his side.

"C'mon, you're okay."

He follows my lead to the stairs. He's still crying. But he'll be okay.


End file.
